Love Letters in the Sand

These kinds of calls were the very reason I was at the beach house to begin with; I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown from the stress of a failed marriage. I asked for nothing in the divorce hearings. I wanted nothing, except to be free from the harassment. It wasn't that I wouldn't sign the papers, the hold-up in the final decree was the judge's decision. He wanted a revision granting me property and support. I would eventually get my way in that regard, relinquishing all claims just to be free. In the meantime, the calls kept coming.

Despite my bravado, my hands shook from the verbal confrontation, and it triggered all the usual emotional responses; rehashing old arguments, second guessing who was at fault, self-recriminations, all those sorts of things. I poured myself a glass of liquid courage and wandered onto the deck. I had only taken a few sips of my drink when I threw it violently against the fence. It shattered and I burst into tears.

The sun was below the horizon, and darkness was falling fast. I slipped on a pair of sandals, grabbed up a towel and my keys, and set off towards the beach at a brisk pace. I burned off the anger by walking the half-mile distance instead of driving across the highway. When I reached the dunes, I removed my sandals to make walking in the sand easier, and I tackled the climb barefoot. It had been my intention to go out to dinner as a treat for myself. I had showered earlier and changed into a plain white sundress with a full-gathered skirt that fell just below my knees. The wind whipping at the skirt made walking over the top of the dunes a chore. It was dark by the time I spread my towel on the sand and sat down to stare out over the moonlit water.

At my back, the music from the lounge was faint, carried away by the wind. I hardly noticed it as I pulled the skirt down over my knees and hugged them to my chest. The tears had stopped, but they came again as I remembered a man and a dog playing in the surf at that very same spot and at the very same time of evening, a few years before. How could such precious memories turn so bitter-sweet over time, I wondered as I sat in silent misery.

Minutes ticked by, perhaps a quarter of an hour, while I continuously wiped away stray tears when they trickled down my cheeks here and there. They were wasted tears even if they were genuine. I reproached myself for having come away from the house without my cigarettes and lighter. I was too weary to make the long walk a second time for the sake of a frivolous whim. I dropped my shoulders and hung my head for a moment.

Without notice, something heavy draped around me and there was warmth in it, warmth and a masculine scent. I peered at the sleeves of a dark leather jacket as they fell to my sides in stark contrast to my white sundress. The owner of the jacket sat down beside me with a grunt. I didn't even look up at first. I just stared at the leather boots and jeans, and the hands casually draped over his knees.

"You wouldn't by any chance happen to have a cigarette?" I asked without turning my head. He fished with his hands in the pocket of the jacket around my shoulders for a moment and from the corner of my eye, I saw the flash of a lighter being struck. He wordlessly handed me the lit cigarette as I murmured an unenthusiastic 'thanks', and he lit another for himself. For the time it took to finish those cigarettes, we sat in total silence together.

As I took the last puff and crushed it out in the sand, I finally asked, "How did you know I was here?" His shoulder brushed against mine as he shrugged and grunted again.

"You're always here," he answered in a soft voice. "When you're not reading," he added. I didn't respond. I was too numb to care how he knew.

"I'm staying at a condo over there," he explained as he pointed to the nearest high-rise a short distance to the west. "My front balcony faces your deck. You leave your curtains open." His statement was mildly scolding. I nodded in acknowledgement still staring at the breaking waves.

"You haven't eaten. Let's go for a drive and we'll find someplace to eat," he said as he suddenly stood up and offered me his hand.

I gazed up at him and in the moonlight, I had my first clear view of him. He was something special to look at, too. Judging from my position on the sand, he was slightly more than six-foot tall, well-muscled in his chest and arms, with long legs and narrow hips. His hair was his crowning glory; it was blonde and it hung down the middle of his back nearly to his waist. In the wind, he looked for all the world like an untamed mustang, a little wild and free-spirited. I took his hand and he pulled me up before he grabbed my towel and popped the sand from it.

"I parked over the dunes in their parking lot," he said as he tossed his head towards the old disco.

I followed along beside him in the direction of the lounge parking lot, clutching my shoes and keys in my hand. Curious now, I ventured a few sideways glances at him while marveling at how easily I gave in to the desire for human companionship, even that of a total stranger. He paused when we reached the top of the hill.

"You should put your shoes on before you step on something and cut yourself," he advised. I dropped my shoes, slipping my feet into them and using his shoulder to balance myself while I stretched the straps over my heels one at the time. He took my hand and towed me the rest of the way down the dunes towards the lot and the only convertible parked there.

He drove down the long drive to where it intersected with the highway. "Is there someplace in particular you would like to go?" he asked as he paused there with indecision. I shook my head without even looking at him. He made a quick decision and headed west along the beach.

He must have taken my silence as a cue that I didn't really want to talk at the moment. He turned on the radio and adjusted the volume, shifting gears as we cruised along the highway. When we passed several popular restaurants, he glanced at the over-crowded parking lots and shook his head.

"This was a bad idea," he said with a frown. "All these places are packed. Do you have any suggestions?"

"One," I muttered. "We could go back to my place and I could cook."

He lowered the volume on the stereo and glanced over at me. "Do you have anything there to cook?"

"I could find something."

He hesitated briefly before nodding in agreement. "Alright. That's what we'll do then," he declared as he slowed the car and turned into a motel parking lot. He cut the wheel sharply and the sudden change of direction threw me off balance. I grabbed for the edge of his seat to steady myself, but my hand landed on his thigh instead. He didn't allow me time to regroup; he placed his hand over mine and grasped it tightly. He didn't release it even when he shifted gears again.

"There's sand in your car," I said as I crossed my ankles and looked down at the floorboard. He grunted lazily at my observation. The car was expensive and well maintained, a Mercedes if I hadn't missed my guess. "Do you have another cigarette? I left mine at home."

He reached down at his side and produced the pack along with a lighter. He handed them to me and I first lit one for him before lighting one for myself.

"Do you play?" I asked as I placed the pack alongside his thigh again. He gave me a curious look. "The guitar. That's a guitar behind the seat."

He smiled slightly and nodded. "Are you sure you don't mind cooking? I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble."

"No trouble. I'll enjoy the company for a change," I shrugged in response. "You can play for me if it will make you feel any better."

"I'll play for you," he nodded in agreement. "It won't be the first time I've played for my supper," he declared with a soft chuckle.

The next few minutes passed in silence while he drove us straight to my door. I was still wearing his jacket when I fumbled with the keys to unlock the sliding patio doors. He took the keys and finished the chore, sliding the door open and returning the keys to me.

"Should I take my boots off?" he asked as he paused inside the door and looked around. I gave him a questioning look as I slid the jacket from my shoulders and tossed it on a chair.

"I noticed you always take your shoes off," he said.

"Do whatever makes you comfortable," I said as I gestured to the sofa. "What do you drink?" I asked heading to the kitchen and flipping on the light switch.

"Vodka mostly."

"Straight?" I asked.

"Whatever you have."

"Ihave whatever you want," I snorted with sarcasm. "Screwdriver, Vodka-Seven, Kama Kazi...what do you want?" I repeated as I placed my hands on my hips and stared at him from across the bar.

"Surprise me," he suggested.

I began making drinks and said over my shoulder, "You shouldn't leave your guitar in the car. Someone might steal it. Besides, you promised to play for me."

He was looking at the family photos hanging on the walls. "Cindy. That's you?" he asked as he peered at me over his shoulder. I cut my eyes at him, but didn't answer as I busied myself with cutting lime wedges both for dinner and our drinks. "I'll go get my guitar. Be right back," he declared slipping through the door and returning to his car.

By the time he returned, there was a tall, cold drink waiting. He set the guitar case beside the sofa and sat down to taste the drink. "Wow! That's good. Different," he commented as he smacked his lips and took another sip.

"If you're not going to play for me now, open the doors and let some music and air in here. Then, you can get your ass in here and help me, if you want to eat before midnight. Bring your drink," I snipped.

He appeared beside me, a moment later, in the kitchen. He watched what I was doing before he said, "I'm not very good at cooking. What do you want me to do?"

"Can you chop?" I asked. I was already setting a cutting board and a knife in front of him. He nodded and picked up the knife, eyeing it and running one finger along the blade. "Not your fingers, this stuff," I admonished as I set a cluster of shallots in front of him.

Forty-five minutes later, I handed him a fresh drink and adjusted the temperature on the oven. "Let's sit down a while. Dinner will be ready by the time we finish these," I said. "I hope you like seafood."

"I do," he confirmed. "It already smells delicious."

We took a seat on the couch together and he sat staring at me in silence for a moment before he reached over and plucked a tissue from the box on the coffee table.

"Come here. You have mascara under your eyes," he said quietly as he waited to repair my makeup. He frowned as his attempt to wipe it away failed. "It's dried." He looked about, undecided what to do, before he licked his thumbs and ran them under both my eyes simultaneously.

"You're spitting on me?" I asked mildly amused by the gesture.

His face broke into a grin. "Old habits. I had a cowlick in my hair when I was kid. Right here," he said as he pointed to the side of his part. "Mom used to lick her fingers to make it lay down."

"I think all mothers do that. But,you're not my mother."

"Fine. You can go around looking like a racoon then," he shrugged. "You're still beautiful."

I handed him another tissue. "If you're going to spit on something, spit on the tissue. It works better that way," I admonished as I leaned towards him and looked up towards the ceiling. He took the cue and after several tries, he seemed satisfied.

"That's better. Now you look smoky-eyed and sexy," he declared as he wadded the soiled tissue and pressed it into my hand.

"Do you want to eat outside on the patio, or would you rather stay in here?" I asked. "We could light the lanterns," I suggested.

"That sounds fine to me. Is there anything I can do? I'll play for you after we eat."

I handed him a lighter from the coffee table. "If you'll light the torches on the deck, I'll check dinner and set the table."

It was another half-hour before we finally sat down on the deck to eat. Most of that time was passed in silence. It wasn't until I set the food in front of him that he looked completely at ease. He took his first bite and a look of total astonishment crossed his face.

"Mmm...this is...delicious," he declared between chews. He made the sound of clearing his throat as he reached for his glass suddenly.

"Be careful; it has a bite to it," I warned too late. "I should have asked if you like spicy foods, I guess."

"It's fine, really good, in fact. What is it?" he asked as he took another bite.

I wiped my lips on a napkin before I spoke. I pointed to his plate with my own fork. "Those are avocado halves and mushrooms stuffed with fresh crab dressing and provolone cheese. There's a dash of horseradish in them. If you'll squeeze some of the lemon and limes over them, it'll cut the heat a little.

"You know what the shrimp are. I just boiled them in Cajun seasonings. The salad isn't hot," I offered. "It's leaf lettuce with a mix of cheeses. The pineapple may kick a little because it has red pepper flakes."

He tasted the salad and made a small moan. "I've never seen anyone put cooked pineapple on a salad before. This is great."

"It's the peppers and onions. They would have been better if they were grilled. I stir-fried them a bit to soften them. The sugar in the pineapple and honey sweetens and thickens into a sauce. Add some dried red pepper and you have a sweet and spicy mix."

"Are these the crabs you caught yesterday?" he asked. My silence made him look up from his plate at me. "I...what I mean is..." he stammered.

"Is there anything I do that you don't see?" I asked sarcastically as I reached to refill our glasses from a pitcher.

"Not much," he admitted as he sat back in his chair and sipped his drink. "I saw you on the beach the first morning you were here. You were swimming with wild porpoises. You have to admit that is a little unusual."

"And, my 'unusual behavior' warrants a full-time surveillance on your part?" I snipped as I rolled my eyes at him.

"Something like that. I've never seen anyone who does the things you do. Aren't you afraid of those big fish?" he asked. "I mean they are wild and that makes them unpredictable."

"First of all, they are dolphins, not fish, and they are not aggressive. They don't eat humans," I said with frown. "Neptune did give me a scare though. I've never known one to deliberately bump into me the way he did. He left a bruise on me," I complained.

My guest began to chuckle behind his hand. I stared expectantly at him.

"And? What's so funny?" I demanded.

He shook his head and looked down, hesitant to say anything. Finally, he raised his head and asked, "Have you ever looked at yourself in that thing you call a bathing-suit?"

I was totally bewildered by his question. "No. Yes... I mean... what has that got to do with it?"

"I may not know dolphins, but I do like to fish. Your bikini is silver and it has strings that dangle on both sides and the back."

"So?"

"What did you call him? 'Neptune'? He likes shiny things. You look like a spinner-bait in that suit," he began to laugh. "Haven't you ever noticed he doesn't pay any attention to you when you wear your black suit? The little crocheted one?"

My jaw dropped open at the revelation. "Oh, my god! I never would have thought of that," I admitted. He was looking at me with pure devilment in his eyes. "Did you just call me 'fish-bait'?" I asked with a look of suspicion.

"I didn't say that. I said..."

"I heard what you said. You said I look like artificial fish-bait."

He kept his eyes on his plate as he took another bite of his dinner, but I could tell he was still amused. After a moment, he looked up at me and teased, "Eat your dinner, fish-bait."

We made small-talk throughout the rest of our meal. Conversation was relaxed and flowed easily with him. When he finished the last bite on his plate, I refilled his glass and excused myself to do the dishes.

"I'll help you," he offered.

"No, never mind. Besides, you don't know where anything goes. Just kick back and relax a while. I'll be back," I assured him.

When I returned from cleaning up the kitchen, I placed a fresh pitcher of drinks on the table, along with a bowl of limes and a bottle of tequila.

"What are those for?" he asked as I set two shot glasses on the table between us.

I tapped the bottle of tequila with my nail. He flashed me a grin and reached for the bottle instead. He licked the back of his hand, shook salt on it, licked it again and turned the bottle up. He shoved the bottle across the table towards me as he bit into a lime wedge. He abruptly stood and went to the living room to retrieve his guitar.

"Do you like blues?" he asked as he seated himself once more and adjusted the strap around his neck. I nodded in earnest and he began to play some of the most amazing instrumental rifts I'd ever heard. For the next two hours, we drank while he played for me.

The next thing I knew, he was gently shaking me awake. "It's late. I should be going," he said as I opened my eyes.

"Don't go," I murmured.

"We've both had too much to drink and it's late."

"But, I was sleeping. I never sleep. Sing for me."

He hesitated a moment before he stood upright and held out his hand. "Alright. Can you make it inside?"

"Yes, but only if you promise to stay tonight."

He helped me through the door then retrieved his guitar and the half empty bottle of tequila. I took off my shoes, locked the doors and closed the curtains.

"Take your boots off. You're not sleeping in my bed with boots on," I said as I turned out all but one light in the living room. I motioned for him to follow me down the hall to the last bedroom. He seemed uneasy as I switched on the bedside lamp and began to turn back the sheets.

The phone rang and I immediately glanced at the clock. He must have seen the fear, the dread in my eyes.

"Your ex?" he asked tilting his head at me.

"He won't stop calling. He'll keep calling all night now he knows I'm here."

He shook his head and lifted the receiver. "Hello," he greeted the caller. He looked at the receiver and placed it back down on the cradle. It rang again and he answered in the same manner. There was a pause as he listened.

"You have the right number," he informed the caller. "No, she doesn't wish to speak with you. She asked you to stop calling her." There was a long pause while he listened.

"I believe there's been a misunderstanding. Cindy does not wish to speak with you again. I'm here to see that she doesn't. If you care to take that up with me, you know where to find me. I'll be right here waiting." He hung up without any further conversation.

"He'll call back again, maybe tomorrow just to see if I meant what I said; his type always does. Let me answer it. I know how to deal with him," he assured me. Before I could say anything more, he put his arms around me and propped his chin on the top of my head.

I returned his hug and lay my head against his chest. "Thank you. I don't even know your name," I said as I suddenly looked up at him with wonder.

"My friends call me 'Doc'."

"You're a doctor?" I asked.

"Not the kind you're thinking."

"Oh, I see," I frowned and shrugged.

"Do you still want me to sing you to sleep?" he asked. I nodded. "Then, come to bed, fish-bait."

He grabbed his guitar and sat down on the bed. I turned on the air conditioner and turned back the comforter to the foot of the bed before I climbed up beside him and lay my head on the pillow.

*****

I opened my eyes to bright sunlight. It was well past daylight. I shielded my eyes and groaned before remembering I had a guest the previous night. I looked around and saw no sign of him. With some difficulty, I crawled to the foot of the bed, the sundress hindering my progress until my feet landed on carpeting. I slipped the dress from my shoulders and unzipped it, letting it fall to the floor. I switched off the air and gathered my clothes, heading for the bathroom.